I lost my husband, Justin, on July 19, 2017, to stage four esophageal cancer just 7 weeks after his diagnosis. He was 40, I am 42. We were married three weeks after he was diagnosed, and were married a month and two days before he passed, with me laying in the hospital bed with his arms around me. I can still hear the sounds of his fast, then slow, heartbeat, and the rattle in his lungs, in my right ear that was pressed to his chest. I get afraid when those sounds dim. It was the most horrible, painful sound, but I am the one with the distinct privilege to have that memory, and I will hold onto that forever. The details surrounding his sudden turn for the worse are too long and painful to get into in this introduction, but maybe someday. I’m positive my story is not unique.

This was a second marriage for us both, and between us we have 5 children, two young teens, two tweens and a little guy. We met in 2015, me coming from a 20 year relationship with an emotionally abusive ex-husband, and him from a relationship of similar length, although his ex cheated on him and that is why they split. So our stories were very different, I chose to leave after horrible abuse, and he was left for someone else. When we met we were both still going through what we coined “the divorce shakes,” but we quickly became each other’s best friend, most trusted confidant and our hearts were instantly connected. Neither of us was looking to get into another relationship (both just 6 months out of our marriages), but we know we were meant to meet, and in our two and a half years together we achieved a happiness neither of us knew was possible. We both finally knew what it meant to love completely and to be loved unconditionally. We both learned to trust again. I didn’t know a love like ours could really exist — we were told by people around us that it filled a room. And it did. It was the thing of fairytales. Finally, after years of misery with my ex, I was safe. I was protected. I was happy. I was loved unconditionally. I was put on a pedestal. We were planning our future together, remodeling my home to add more bedrooms and living space, so that each of our children would have what they deserved. Justin proposed to me on a mountain top in Colorado, in front of our very best friends, in April of 2017. We were planning a July wedding, until he got sick and just wasn’t getting better. After too many visits to the doctor and specialists to count, when he completely lost his voice and nearly the ability to swallow, his chiropractor found the huge mass pushing on his esophagus. We were determined to beat this (we knew it wasn’t curable, but it was treatable, or so we were told), and we decided to get married right away. We married in our backyard, in a beautiful, surprise ceremony for those same best friends who were with us on that mountain. I can’t say it was the best day of my life, because every day with Justin was the best day. And now he’s gone and I am lost. Completely and utterly lost.

I have always been the caretaker. I got my shit done and I did it well. I am educated, a professional, and my career was great. Now, as I face the 6 month anniversary of Justin’s death, I can barely work. I hate everyone, I hate everything, I have been diagnosed with severe depression, and I have tremendous guilt that I can’t yet function. I have primary custody of my three kids who loved Justin so much, and by the grace of something, I still get Justin’s kids part time. Our children bonded as quickly and preciously as Justin and I did, just another sign to us that we were meant to be. People keep telling me “but you have your kids, they need you!” And I want to scream “no shit!” but I just nod and exclaim my undying love for them. But the truth is that these children represent pain to me. And it’s a horrible thing to admit. Is this a thing or am I a terrible parent now to boot?

In the aftermath of Justin’s cancer and passing I have realized that a lot of Justin’s friends (who I thought were also mine) just can’t handle this. These are people I know Justin would want me to count on for help, but they have disappeared, almost as if they blame me for what happened. I am constantly being questioned, whispered about, accused of lying, second-guessed...about finances, his diagnosis, his belongings, etc. and it’s painful and exhausting. I can’t even get rid of his toothbrush for God’s sake! It’s almost as if this tragedy has fueled people’s love of drama, and it’s not helping me heal at all; it just makes me isolate further.

Even as I write this I can hear my best dude telling me “get your shit together!,” as he’d often tease me. I just want a fast forward button, because the constant pain and sense of failure I feel is killing me. I’m not suicidal because I am not selfish, but I understand it. I just want to be where he is.

I am sorry for your loss. I lost my wife to throat cancer 3 weeks and 1 day ago. We were married just short of 13 years and every day without her is so painful. I have found it therapeutic to read all of the forum sections to make myself feel normal that others experienced what I am going through. I also recommend the advice to drink lots of water. I have never drank more water than I have in the past three weeks and I am still constantly thirsty. I pray that you find comfort and peace.

Hugs to all of you that has recently joined. We get it and post as much as you want or need to. I truly learned what "one day at a time" meant after I lost DH. Try not to think to much into the future and focus on today.Hugs again.

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I don't want it to be his legacy that his death destroyed me.I need to honour his life by rebuilding my life.

Thank you for sharing your story. It's so hard to know how lucky you have been and now...this.

As an old-timer widow I believe that all parts of our grief are important and ours to go through at our own speed and in our own way. And none of it is easy but it is possible to go through it and get to the other side.